Secret Love
by andysoneandonlyangel
Summary: Guinevere has a secret crush on Lancelot, and she doesn't know how to express her feelings
1. Chapter 1

The snow drifted down in lazy circles and covered the world below in a thick, frosty blanket. It stood out against the charred black trees and the bodies pinned against them. The mountains overhead loomed over the traveling party, casting a sinister shadow on them.

Guinevere watched her land pass before her eyes under the canopy of the wagon. She shivered as she saw the bodies, forgetting that she had a fur blanket covering her. Snowflakes steered from their path and drifted into the wagon. They fell and melted upon the darkness of her brows and lashes. Guinevere wiped away the tears that fell down her cheeks. Her land was being ransacked and there was nothing she could do about it.

The jolting of the carriage stopped. She looked out onto a meadow, then out to a forest that lay before it. Over the roaring of the wind, she heard the command to keep going. One by one, each knight rode out until only one was left. His black cloak, black hair and black clothing contrasted greatly against the whiteness of the snow. She knew his name before he even told her and she had watched him from the very beginning.

Guinevere's eyes had followed his every movement, her hands longed to lay upon that curly mop of hair…she wanted to hear him speak her name. She froze slightly when he rode beside the wagon, however, she started to speak without knowing what she was saying.

"Your horse is tired," she said, looking him straight in the eye.

"How can you tell if he is tired? We can travel longer distance than this." Guinevere heard a teasing tone in his voice. As she looked into his eyes, she saw a twinkle of laughter.

"I know what I'm talking about. Your horse is too tired. You are too heavy for him."

Lancelot raised one dark eyebrow in an expression of mock shock. "Pardon me lady, but did you accuse me of being fat?"

"Not at all. I am merely saying that your horse is tired. Come into the cart with me. It is nice and warm." Guinevere's heart raced at those words and she hardly believed that she was bold enough to say that. Her face flushed as she watched Lancelot slide gracefully onto the cart. His horse kept walking beside them, glancing over at his master from time to time.

As Lancelot settled into his seat, he pondered about his feelings for the girl next to him. True, he had wanted to catch her alone for some time now, but he had always been a bit afraid to do so. He had never felt that feeling before. Lancelot had always lived by spontaneity for he never had time to think. He was too busy for that.

Guinevere peered over the side of the cart and felt her breath escape her. The meadow was gone and now there was nothing…just a road and beyond that, air. Her face, that was red moments ago, turned a deathly pale. She hated to admit that she was afraid of heights, but she was.

Guinevere suddenly turned and buried her face in Lancelot's chest, trying to block out the sight of rocks and air. Lancelot could tell by the look in her eyes that fear was something foreign to her. He was too surprised to think of what he was allowed to do, but willed his arms to encircle her and hold her tight. Lancelot loved the fact that she would try to be closer to him and he protectively held his arm around her for the rest of the long journey until they reached a suitable campsite.


	2. Chapter 2

The campsite was surrounded by trees frosted with snow. The frozen ground crunched with each step that Guinevere took. Above her in the sky, the moon glowed like a beacon to the weary travelers. Night had descended upon them quickly and the knights were tired. Murmurs from them and the villagers were hushed and the smell of stew wafted through the air.

Guinevere looked at the scene before her. She saw Bors bent over a bubbling pot. Arthur was talking to one of the villagers. Tristan was sharpening his sword by the fire. Gawain and Galahad were talking softly. Dagonet was tending to Lucan and Lancelot…Lancelot was watching her by the tree. His dark eyes followed her every movement. Each breath she took, each step she made, did not go unnoticed. Guinevere walked over to the edge of camp, to where the trees were the thickest. As she looked out into the darkness, she felt a sense of loneliness. The wind whispered through the trees and teased her hair from their bounds. As tendrils of hair whipped around her face, she heard the far away cries of her people, their cries for help. Goosebumps rose on her skin and her heart wrenched inside of her. Tears glistened in her eyes as she continued to hear the voices of her people, wailing in despair.

Guinevere started when she felt a hand upon her shoulder. She turned around, finding herself looking into the laughing eyes of Lancelot.

"I hope I didn't startle you. Here, eat this. It'll make you feel better." He handed a steaming bowl of stew to Guinevere. "Well, maybe not feel better, it might make you sick. It's Bors' special stew."

Guinevere made no move to take the bowl from Lancelot. Her eyes were skeptical as she eyed what may very well be her last meal. Lancelot noticed her hesitation, so he dipped his finger in the stew to show her it's alright to eat. He brought his finger up to his mouth and tasted it. Immediately, Lancelot started to choke and he tried to spit out the taste. Tears ran down from his eyes and his skin became a splotchy red as he attempted to clear his mouth of Bors' poison. Guinevere started to smile, amused at Lancelot's over-exaggerated antics.

When Lancelot was well enough to speak, he spoke carelessly saying, "Men were not made to cook. We were made to fight and to love, no more than that."

Hearing this, Guinevere slightly frowns and she narrows her eyes. "Woad men cooked. We lived off the land. Everyone worked equally," she paused "…everyone fought equally." She looked off into the distance, thinking once more of her people.

Lancelot became serious. He took her arm and held it gently until Guinevere looked into his eyes once more. "Why do you always seem like you heart is torn in two?"

"Seems?" Guinevere looks at him with glassy eyes, brimming with unshed tears. The moonlight that broke through the trees accentuated their mortal, yet mystic beauty. "Seems?" Once more, Guinevere looked down onto the ground, then back up again. "...Lancelot, my heart is torn. My people are being murdered. There are more corpses than graves. Children cry and starve for both mother and father are lost. Parents bury their children, a practice so foreign and wrong that even the strongest soul cannot recover. I cannot do anything to help them, or stop this massacre."

Guinevere's voice broke and the tears she was trying to hold off flooded down her cheeks. Lancelot pulled her to his chest and held her there until her sobs subsided. He pulled back and bent his head to look at her. "Guinevere, look at me. Look at me." He lifted up her chin with two fingers. "Your heart need not be so burdened with grief. You must not punish yourself. Guinevere, you have been tortured not only physically, but emotionally as well. You have suffered as well, don't think that you haven't." Lancelot whispered, "Come, it's time you were sleeping."

He led Guinevere back over to the middle of the campsite and watched her go to sleep silently. Her chest heaved now and then with a muffled sob. Lancelot kept watch over her until she was silent. Then, with his swords in hand, he drifted off to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Guinevere was rudely awakened by the _zing _of swords and raised voices. Her left hand grasped for her bow that never left her side. As she held the bow, Guinevere felt her old strength and fire return to her. Adrenaline rushed through her veins and she felt alive once more. In her mind, she was running through the forest, blending in with the trees.

When she reached the scene of commotion, she saw Dagonet trying to reach Lucan, who was being held prisoner by the man who had tortured them both. Guinevere strung her bow and let the arrow fly true to the black, twisted heart of her target. As Marcus Honorius fell to the ground, Guinevere felt no remorse. She did not know how steely her gaze was, or how her mouth was set in a thin, dark smile. As Guinevere stood over the dead body, she felt a pair of eyes boring into her back. She turned around and saw Lancelot smirking at her.

"I wouldn't want to get on your bad side…ever."

Guinevere turned from him and stalked away. She didn't see Lancelot open his mouth to call her back, nor did she see him stare at her retreating back until she disappeared into the wagon. There, she lost herself in her thoughts. From time to time, Lancelot peered into the wagon, only to find Guinevere blankly staring at the cloth that hid her from the outside world. Only when the wagon jolted did she break from her trance. A different world greeted her as she climbed out and faced the scene of a frozen lake, with no possible escape route.

The wind blew harder again. Unlike the night before, the voices of her people was gone. Instead, she heard the beating of drums, drawing dangerously near. Guinevere turned back to get her bow, but a hand restricted her. She furiously turned around and found herself eye-to-eye with a pale Lancelot.

Lancelot tightly grasped Guinevere's arm, as if he expected her to fight for her freedom. He pulled her close so that his whisper could be heard above the howling of the wind. "This is no place for you. Go to Hadrian's Wall with the villagers. Battle is not for women."

Guinevere furiously whispered back. "I fought with my people. I fight _for_ my people. This is my land also, why should I not defend my country?" She pulled back and cupped his chin in her palm. "I am staying Lancelot. I am fighting by your side." Lancelot searched her eyes and found a burning fire within them. That fire somehow made Lancelot realize something deep inside him, and he turned away before his feelings could distract him from the war in front of him.

Guinevere whipped around slid on the ice as she retrieved her bow. Then, she went and stood by Lancelot, daring him to send her back. Despite her eagerness to fight for land and country, Guinevere felt the warmth of her blood leave her when she set eyes upon the Saxon army.

The ice cracked underneath them as the army advanced upon them. She looked to Arthur for command. As he lifted up his bow, his knights did the same. Soon, the army was reduced to half, then a quarter. Arthur must've realized the ice was not going to crack, for he retreated. However, Guinevere saw Dagonet rush out to the ice and she started to fire arrows at twice her speed to keep anyone from killing him. She cried out in pain as she saw arrows strike Dagonet. Beside her, Lancelot winced and closed his eyes for a brief moment before he started to fire once more. The ice cracked, and the Saxon army met their deaths in the icy grip of the water.

The ride back to the Wall was silent. No one needed to say a thing, for the death of Dagonet was fresh in their minds. Guinevere's eyes burned with tears. They rolled down her cheek, carving a path for the river yet to come. Lancelot looked at her and climbed into the wagon. No words were spoken. Lancelot just took her into his arms and held her, rocking her back and forth until she was calm. He cried too, and Guinevere felt his tears drop onto her head. She looked up and just brushed them away, her palm lingering on his cheek.


	4. Chapter 4

The funeral for Dagonet was brief and sentimental. Lancelot stood off to the side for he didn't want anyone to see him cry. The gentle breeze of the wind tugged at his curls and blew the blue-grey smoke into his eyes, clouding his vision. He could vaguely make out the figures of his comrades…and there, on the side, a nymph-like figure. Turning away, he gazed off into the distance. A sea of grass greeted him, and Lancelot was lost in his thoughts of yesterday.

Lancelot and the others mourned the death of Dagonet, their brother, the heart and soul of the Sarmatian group. Receiving their papers of freedom was bittersweet. They were now free to go, but going home without Dag seemed like a farce. It just didn't seem right. It wasn't right. Lancelot had so many thought jumbled inside his head. There was Dag, the papers, and yet something else plagued his mind and muddied his thoughts. It interrupted his grief with confusion and denial. He was not sure how, but his sense seemed to be enslaved by her mere existence.

The wind blew again. Guinevere's precious scent wafted under his nose as she appeared before him. Lancelot looked up in surprise, where had the others gone? He realized it was twilight, and that the service had been over for hours. He felt her slender fingers intertwine with his hair, combing through his unruly curls. Her preternatural eyes burned into his own, and her willful, yet sorrowful voice spoke lullabies in his ear. Guinevere's arms were around him, comforting his shaking, cold body. Lancelot held her close, sensing, rather than feeling, her moist, red lips pressed to his heart, breathing into it life and longing and death and desire.

"How can this be?" he thought. "How is it possible that such a girl could make my heart beat faster and slower the same time?"

Guinevere pulled away from the embrace and looked Lancelot in the eyes. She had tears running down her cheek, for even though she hardly knew Dag…she knew that he was loved by those around him, and seeing them in pain hurt her more than words could say. Lancelot ran his hand up her neck and traced the curve of her jaw and followed the path to her cheek. He wiped away her tears with his thumb, and dropped his thumb to her lips, and back down to her hand.

She grasped it tightly and they walked along a path to just be with each other. Lancelot like that…there was no need for unintended promises, or words of awkwardness. They fit together like his swords and his scabbards.

The night was cool and the breeze was gentle. Stars festooned the dark velvet sky and the smell of honeysuckle and lavender was subtle. Lancelot and Guinevere had climbed to a hill overlooking everything, and yet, they had only eyes for each other. As they held each other, Lancelot turned his head and started to speak to Guinevere.

"No," she whispered, as she placed her fingers over his lips. Lancelot raised his eyebrows in surprise and shut his mouth, then opened it again. "Lancelot, I know what you are going to say, and the answer is…" she took a deep breath and smiled at him. "The answer is that I love you too."

As he looked at her, his heart felt as if it would burst with happiness. He bent his head and kissed Guinevere tenderly. She broke the kiss soon afterwards, and hugged him fiercely. Just feeling the weight of her in his arms meant the sun and moon to him. Lancelot wished that somehow, he could make time stop, so that they could stay like that forever.

"I love you Guinevere," he whispered. "With all that is in me, I love you."


End file.
